Blah
by Leo Luna
Summary: It wasn't that Mark didn't feel at all...he just didn't feel much. Content in his barely-there numbness, can anyone save him?
1. Tiles

So it was late, very late, and I was trying to work on my other story, but instead this just kind of...poured out. Reviews are appreciated, and I may continue this. I know, I always say that. But for real this time. Possibly.

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or the characters from it, foo.

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Mark stared at the tiles. They were white. Well, not white _exactly_, but more of an off-white, pale, pale yellowish color. He narrowed his eyes, and the tiles all blurred into one, a giant, bland expanse of...blah. He couldn't come up with a better word than that. Blah. All things were blah to him now, and they probably always would be. It was easier to feel simple blah instead of all the emotions that were squirming around inside him, pushing for release, creating a ruckus in his head and causing his hands to shake, contained only by the thin covering of blah he somehow managed to maintain.

After Collins went, it had gotten easier. Well no, not easier, it would _never_ get easier, but he was getting tougher. When Angel had gone, he had cried for days, they all had, but after Collins something inside him just snapped. When the machines stopped beeping and Collins' eyes stared off into nothingness, there was silence, silence enough that he was almost sure he'd _heard_ something snap. It wasn't his emotions, he had still been sad of course, but something had broken, and an excess of blah had poured out, filling him with a gentle numbness that he had taken as a blessing. The others had been in the room, and they're screams and wails after the second of silence when the blah pipeline broke had faded away, if only for a moment. Maureen was hunched over in a chair, rocking back and forth, shaking with loud, dramatic howls as Joanne rubbed her back, barely able to withhold her own tears. Benny was standing in the doorway, but the second Mark had looked at him, he turned and walked away quickly. Benny was never one to cry in front of others. To his left, silent tears had rolled down Roger's face, as Mimi bawled into his chest, her sobs resonating through Mark's blessed blah, like a dark foreshadowing.

Mimi...

Mimi had been the worst. He remembered the moment, and the moments after, clearer than anything ever in his life. There were only four of them in the room that time, not counting her. Benny hadn't showed, although they'd left messages on his machine all week. Mark had never seen Roger pray, he had never been religious in the least, especially after April. But that final day, he kneeled by Mimi's bed, clutching her hand constantly, never even looking at anyone else. He spoke almost silently, but Mark had been able to make out one word. "Please...please, please..._please_..." Roger had repeated the word over and over, and Mark got the feeling he wasn't talking to Mimi. That last moment, the moment all the beeps and blips stopped, Mimi's chest stopped moving and her eyes stopped seeing, the moment Roger collapsed, completely helpless, only three words escaping his mouth, "Take me, please..." before his sobs overtook him, and it took Joanne, Maureen, and Mark to hold him up. That was it, the one second when Roger collapsed, when the blah all went away. Mark had felt everything then and it took all his energy not to pass out. All the pain, sadness, torture, the crushing weight of all the emotions had hit him in one jolt, nearly sending his own heart into overdrive. It had been terrifying, but to Mark's relief it went away as quickly as it came, and the blah returned.

Now, here he was. He wasn't sure if he was crying or not. He didn't want to know. He didn't want to feel anything, and it was taking all his energy not to. It had started one day, a week ago, maybe two. He didn't remember now. He'd just come home from a day of filming, happy and content with how his newest work was coming. He had planned to treat Roger, Maureen, and Joanne to a dinner at a reasonably nice restaurant, having just sold a decent piece of footage for two hundred dollars. But that had all disappeared when he entered the apartment and saw Roger, lying unmoving on the carpet, his chest barely rising up and down, his bottle of a AZT a few inches from his hand, pills strewn across the carpet like broken porcelain He had just taken his pill when it hit him, Roger told him when they got him hooked up at the hospital, but he had known it was pointless, but he also knew Mark would have worried if he had stopped taking.

Everything after that was a blur, up until now. He had just watched Roger die. His best friend. His brother. He'd stumbled out of the room and into a chair in the waiting room, and stared at the tiles.

The blah tiles.

"Mark?" Came a voice, sounding distant. Mark slowly raised his head. A concerned face hovered before him, a face all too familiar, although it took him a moment to place a name with it. Maureen. Perhaps the blah was affecting his memory. He would welcome it, he thought. There were things he would like to forget. Like the last seven years.

"Mark?" Maureen said again, a little louder, but still gentle. Mark hated that gentleness, the kind doctors always used when they tried to fix something long since broken that they couldn't possibly have taken classes about. Mark looked away.

"Joanne's...figuring things out. The...the funeral. You won't have to worry about anything," she said, moving into the chair next to him and placing a hand on his back. "You wanna go home?"

Mark could tell she was holding it together just for him. Someone had to be strong when no one else was, like he had been strong for Roger. Mark shook his head. Home wasn't home anymore without Roger hung over on the couch, plucking out notes on the guitar, or pacing around wildly, bursting into song occasionally as he tried to write something.

"You want something to eat?" Mark shook his head at this as well.

"You wanna stay here?" Mark shook his head more vigorously than the previous two times. The stupid tiles were beginning to close in on him, forming all sorts of odd patterns and making him dizzy.

"Mark, please..." Maureen whispered, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. He was being impossible, he knew that.

"Home," he finally said. And Maureen seemed to relax a bit. The click-click of high heeled black boots signaled the entrance of Joanne, and Maureen removed herself from Mark's side. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but he heard snippets: "The loft," "Stay the night," "Just to be sure," from Maureen, and he could tell from Joanne's tone that she wasn't thrilled with what Maureen was proposing, but she didn't dare protest. Neither did Mark. No matter the amount of blah in his system, the last thing he wanted was to be alone. Loneliness triggered thoughts.


	2. Strength

Hey guys, here's the second chapter. Thank you so much for the reviews, and thanks for the advice about the summary!

Disclaimer: I don't own RENT or the characters. Woe.

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Maureen nudged Mark gently through the door to his apartment, and he kept his eyes trained carefully on the floor. He was scared to death that one look at Roger's guitar, the door to his room, anything there might ruin the numbness he had managed to maintain. Another moment like the one when Mimi died might kill him, he'd decided. It was best that he just keep up this blah persona and not let anything get him.

"Are you tired?" Maureen said, still using a voice almost totally foreign to him, a quiet, tentative, caring one. He shrugged, not knowing what else do to. Maureen took his hand, leading him past the couch, past the guitar stand which he flinched at, looking away, then finally into his room. Mark sighed in relief. It felt nice to be away from the rest of the apartment. He and Roger had had a deal, they wouldn't mess which each other's rooms, _ever_, and therefore there weren't any painful reminders in his room, just a bunch of movie posters and extra rolls of film scattered about. Maureen let go of his hand and patted his arm.

"Try to sleep," she said, "I'll be out on the couch."

Sixty minutes later, Mark lay on his bed, eyes wide open, completely unable to sleep. His body was dead tired from being at the hospital twenty-four seven, but his mind was still reeling in a state of blah, and he was terrified that if he let himself sleep, the blah may slip away and never come back. Then he would actually have to deal with the world in all it's gruesomeness. And if he had to deal with it, he was sure he would fall apart. A small part of him hoped that if he did sleep, maybe he would wake up to find that the last seven years had been a dream, and everything was perfect–Angel and Collins would be bringing them Christmas presents and Roger and Mimi would be screaming at each other then making up five minutes later. But he knew this was an utter impossibility, and it was just his body trying to trick him into getting some shut-eye. He wouldn't listen to it, though. He wouldn't listen to anything.

A slight creaking sound brought him out of his thoughts, and he looked over to see Maureen poking her head in the doorway.

"You're still awake?" she asked. He could tell she was exhausted. She should be sleeping, he thought, she needed it more than he did. But she'd already seen his eyes open, there was no use in pretending to be asleep now. Slowly he nodded. Maureen entered, closing the door behind her and sitting down on the edge of his bed.

"It's all right that you can't sleep, you know," she said, "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll get tired soon. It's been a long week for all of us." Edging closer, she kicked her shoes off and settled onto the bed next to him, leaning her head on him. Ironically, Mark thought, this would have made him ecstatic not long ago. His heart would have been racing about what would happen next and he would have been frantically planning how to handle the situation, and already thinking of all the ways he would brag to Roger. But now there was nothing to make his heartbeat anything except regular, there was only enough to keep him alive.

Maureen sniffled a little, and Mark could tell she was on the verge of tears, because her eyes were shut tight and that was the only time she sniffled. She never got colds or anything, it was part of the Magic of Maureen. He placed a hand on her back, and a small sob escaped her mouth, a tear rolling down her cheek and onto Mark's shirt. This was where he was meant to be, he decided at that moment. He was good at being there when people needed him, and that's what he would do from now on. No mourning over things, no being sad and being a burden to people. He was capable of not feeling. That gave him the ability to be strong and he should use that for good, to help people who had very little strength of their own. Even if they liked to think they had an excess of it, like Maureen.

An hour later, Maureen was fast asleep. Mark was still awake, staring at the ceiling. He doubted he would ever sleep again. There wasn't really a need for it.


	3. Raindrops

It's me again, back with number three! Thank you guys for the reviews, I'm really starting to like writing this one, and I hope you guys will keep liking reading it.

Disclaimer: RENT is not my brainchild. Nor are the characters my brainchildren either.

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Mark poured the coffee evenly into two mugs, careful not to spill a drop. As predicted, he hadn't slept an wink that night, and around seven that morning he'd carefully removed himself from underneath Maureen, who had sort of rolled over on him during the night. He'd forgotten that she slept like a rock, and tended to be a bit of a violent sleeper. There was silence in the apartment, save for the tap-tap of rain drops hitting the windows. The rain had started at about 4 AM. Maureen, of course, hadn't even taken notice, but he had. Rain had always been a comfort to him. In the summers when he was younger, he would sat out in the warm, humid thunderstorms, letting the droplets coat him in a protective barrier of water against all the evil in the world. When he was thirteen though, he had been worried his mother thought he was going crazy and had forced himself to sit and observe from behind the window panes. It wasn't the same. Around seven, when he'd gotten up, the rain had been pouring in torrents, filling his mind with the deafening noise and allowing him to think of nothing else. But now it had slowed to a depressing drizzle and he was desperate for another distraction.

Just as he went to pick up the cups and carry one in to Maureen in hopes that she was awake now, there was a sharp and impatient rapping on the door. Joanne, he figured. There wasn't really anyone else left that it could be. Surely enough, as he pulled the heavy door aside, Joanne was standing before him, checking her watch as she impatiently tapped her foot on the metal flooring. She looked up and a disappointed look crossed her face. She'd been hoping Maureen would answer the door, Mark assumed.

"Hi, Mark, I..." she attempted to formulate some more words. Mark had noticed in the recent years that Joanne wasn't very good at comforting people. All she'd ever done for Maureen was rub her back and tell her it would be all right. He had wondered how Maureen could bear it, that phrase had to get old at some point.

"Come in," he said, stepping aside. She'd looked so desperate for words, he'd figured he'd save her. There wasn't anything she could say, anyway, so why make her try? Relieved, Joanne stepped through the door. "There's coffee on the counter if you want some. Maureen's still asleep," he monotoned. He would talk, but he wouldn't say anything unnecessary. As if on cue, Maureen stumbled out of Mark's room, much to Joanne's dismay. It suddenly occurred to Mark that Maureen had been in his bed that night, and the initial assumption from that would upset Joanne.

"I slept on the floor," he offered quickly, not wanting to cause a conflict, "She fell asleep on the bed while we were playing cards." It was a half-assed excuse, and Maureen gave him a confused look, but seemed to catch on and smiled.

"Yeah, and I still want a 'go fish' rematch!" she said, walking over to Joanne and kissing her on the cheek, "Hey, honey, how are you?" Joanne seemed appeased by their shoddy cover story and smiled.

"I'm all right, I hope you guys slept well?" At this, Maureen nodded vigorously and Mark shrugged, picking up the cups of coffee and carrying them to the two girls. He'd make himself some more later. Joanne took hers with a polite smile, sipping daintily, and Maureen grabbed hers and swallowed nearly the whole cup in one gulp. The sight of the two of them together had always been almost enough to make Mark laugh, they were so opposite. Maureen tended to go for people who were opposite of her, Mark noted. Like him. Perhaps it was a subconscious way of showing that she didn't like who she was.

"Hey Mark, honey, why don't you go get that book you were going to show me last night before I fell asleep? It's in your room, right?" Maureen said, smiling at him in an odd way. Slightly confused, Mark nodded tentatively.

"Uh...sure." He headed towards his room with his hands shoved in his pockets and closed the door halfway behind him. The conversation Maureen had wanted him out of the room for drifted through the crack in the door:

"Pookie, he needs someone right now. He hasn't got anyone else!"

"Maureen, I'm really not sure-"

"He just lost his best friend, Jo, and if you're worried about me and him...well, don't be." It surprised Mark that Maureen couldn't come up with a better reason for Joanne not to worry. Joanne sighed.

"I know. I just miss you, baby. When do you think he'll be okay?"

"I don't know. But I know I'm not leaving until he's all right again," Maureen sighed, "He's one of my best friends. He's shutting out the world." She sounded like she was going to cry. Mark could practically feel Joanne giving in. There it was again, the Magic of Maureen.

"It's fine, honey bear," Joanne replied, "I'll come by again after work tonight." They kissed briefly, then the door slammed shut. A moment later, Maureen appeared in the doorway, nearly running into Mark, who had been listening in not far from the door. She smiled awkwardly, knowing he'd heard.

"Is it all right if I stay a bit longer?" she asked, as if Mark actually had a choice in the matter, "Joanne has to go to work and I get lonely."

Five hours later, the two of them were sitting on the worn-out old couch, munching on the various forms of snack food Mark had managed to pull out of the cabinets. It was afternoon now, and the rain had completely cleared up, leaving behind a sparkling, sunny day and a rainbow over the buildings across the street. A few stray water droplets slid down the window and Mark followed their zig-zag course with his gaze.

"Hey," Maureen said suddenly, and Mark glanced over at her. "You know what I think we should do?" Mark shook his head. "Go shopping. Remember, you love shopping!" There was an almost devilish smile on her face, and Mark nearly smiled himself. He didn't really like shopping, but he'd insisted that he did when they were dating, and had sat through hours of her trying on outfit after outfit that neither of them could afford. They had been some of the best days he'd ever had. Maybe this would help things be like they were back then, he thought, and smiled weakly, nodding his head.

"Yeah," he said, "That'd be nice." Maureen smiled even wider and jumped up, grabbing her purse on her way to the door. Money hadn't been an issue with her since she'd been with Joanne, and Mark pulled some of the money he'd saved from his last few footage sales out of his hiding place in a box under the couch and put it in his pocket.

"Mark, what do you think? Mark? Mark!" Mark could hear her calling his name, and she was no doubt standing in front of him in a ridiculous pose, modeling some slinky evening dress or halter top, but he couldn't look up for some reason. The tiles of the dressing room floor were the exact same color that the ones at the hospital had been, and he felt himself being sucked into their numbness again. A hand suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled, forcing him to look away. Maureen was dragging him into the dressing room.

"Maureen! What're you-" he exclaimed and she shushed him. "We're going to get in trouble!" Maureen laughed out loud.

"Stop worrying, Marky," she said nonchalantly, pulling the red top she'd been trying on off over her head, "We're adults. It's no one else's business if I want you in here with me. Plus, you looked half dead out there." Mark found himself staring at her bra, a form-fitting concoction of black and pale blue lace, then realized what he was doing and looked away quickly, waiting until she pulled the next shirt on to look up again.


	4. Finally

So I'm finally back, ya'll, and with a brand new chapter. Hope you guys keep reading, and I hope this one lives up to the others.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own RENT. But if Jonathan Larson was alive, I would marry him. THEN I would own RENT. Kind of. Not really.

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Mark skimmed the pages of the novel he'd picked up from the bookshelf in his room, not really taking in the plot, but it was helping to cure his boredom. After about three hours, Maureen had finally been satisfied with their shopping endeavors and they had gone back to Mark's apartment, where she promptly passed out on the couch. Shopping obviously took a lot out of a woman, he'd thought, bemused. A few bags were on the couch in front of Maureen, containing her haul from the day, which he knew was heavier than it looked (she'd made him carry the bags up the stairs, just like the old days). A glance at the clock revealed that it was almost 7 PM. Joanne would be getting off work soon, and probably drop by again. He hoped she wasn't psyching herself out over him and Maureen, Joanne didn't need any more stress in her life.

Suddenly there was a sharp ringing sound, causing Mark to jump a bit before realizing it was the phone. He made a miraculously quick leap across the apartment to grab it before it disturbed Maureen.

"Hello?" he said quietly.

"Marky!" came the all too familiar high pitched voice on the other line. Mark groaned inwardly.

"Hey, mom," he said, "Listen, can I call you back-"

"Oh, Marky we just heard about Roger. Why didn't you tell us! Do you want to come home?" Usually he avoided his mom's phone calls for just this reason: she always wanted him to come home. He struggled for an excuse to stay away for a moment.

"Mom look, I really can't leave right now. Um, Maureen...Maureen's pretty broken up about this. She and Roger were pretty good friends. I think she needs me," he lied, praying that his mom wouldn't remember that Roger and Maureen couldn't stand each other.

"Oh, honey. I suppose if she needs you, you should stay. Wait, does this mean you two lovebirds may be getting back together?" His mom sounded way too excited by that idea.

"No, mom, jeez–look, I have to go. I've...gotta make some calls for...work. I love you, bye." He quickly hung up the phone, breathing a sigh of relief. Talking to his mother always stressed him out. He turned and picked up his book from the chair he'd been sitting in before, and headed back into his room to exchange it for another one. He was crouched in front of his bookcase when a nearly eardrum shattering yell came from the living room.

"POOKIE!" Mark nearly jumped out of his skin, and muttering under his breath, returned to the living room to see what was wrong with Maureen. She was sitting up on the couch, looking a bit like a confused child. When he entered she smiled.

"Oh, there you are!" she said, "I woke up and didn't see you. I thought maybe–Well, sorry I fell asleep. Shopping always does that to me." She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. "What were you up to while I slept?"

"Uh...I read for a while. I just went in my room to get a different book." He said, holding up the book he was carrying.

"Oh, well I hope you weren't too bored. Has Joanne stopped by? I figured she'd be by after work. I wanted to talk to her." Maureen glanced at the clock on the wall and then at the door.

"Not yet," Mark replied, sitting down on the couch next to Maureen.

"I think..." Maureen began to say something, but trailed off and sighed.

"What?" Mark asked. Maureen shook her head.

"You've got enough to worry about right now without my worthless drama." She said, crossing her legs and staring at her hands. Mark shifted so he was facing her.

"Maureen, when have you ever not wanted to share your drama with someone?" He asked, and Maureen smiled and laughed a little.

"You're right, Marky. I guess I'm a bit dramatic sometimes. I think...I think that next time I see Joanne, I'm going to break up with her." She said the last part all in one breath, and breathed heavily afterwards, as if she'd been holding that in for a long time. Mark was speechless.

"But...but you guys are so..." He stammered. This was completely new to him. It had become a fact of live the last seven years, the one thing that never changed when everything else did, that Maureen and Joanne were meant to be. They had never gotten engaged again after the debacle back before Angel died, but he'd never thought that made a difference.

"Happy?" Maureen supplied the word he'd been looking for. "Yeah, I know. Everyone says that, and it's not that we aren't happy. We're perfectly happy most of the time. Perfectly _normal_." She said the word normal as if it disgusted her. "And I don't mean that Joanne is boring or anything, it's just...there's a whole world out there of places I've never been. I always said I'd get out of this town and go somewhere I've never been before. Do something no one else has ever done. And these last couple days, staying here, without Joanne coming home at seven thirty each night, it was different. It made me realize how much I _like_ different." Mark was about to protest, but there was a knocking at the door, and Maureen took a deep breath before standing up. "Wish me luck." She said.

"Maureen, are you sure-" He started, but she just smiled sadly.

"Trust me, Mark." And with that she walked to the door and opened it. "Pookie, can I talk to you outside for a minute?" Was all Mark heard, then the door closed. He sat in silence for a few minutes, thinking about the bombshell Maureen was dropping on Joanne at that very moment. He tried to imagine how Joanne was feeling, how he had felt when it had been him in that place, but it had been so long since then and so much more had happened that he couldn't even remember how it felt. A side effect of the Blah, he assumed. Another good thing it had done for him.

A few moments later, Maureen burst back into the apartment, not bothering to close the door, and walked into Mark's room without a word. He stood up and turned around to see Joanne still standing outside the door. He quietly walked over, and she looked up at him.

"Joanne, I'm-" He started, but she cut him off.

"Don't, Mark. It was never me. I knew that." She said, smiling despite the tears streaming down her face, "Watch out for her for me, Mark. I'll see you around." She nodded to him, then turned and started down the stairs. Mark closed the door and turned around to see Maureen peering out of the doorway of his room. Slowly she walked to the couch.

"She took it pretty well, I think." She said, and Mark could tell she was crying a little bit too. He sat down next to her, not knowing what to say. The Blah was blocking the part of his brain which usually came up with the sensitive and comforting words.

"Do you...do you want some water?" Was the best he could manage. Maureen nodded, and he stood up hurriedly, relieved. As he walked by the couch, however, his foot collided with something, and a book slid out from under it. It took him only a second to recognize it: Roger's songbook. A jolt of...something shot through him, and his vision blurred for a moment, then another, so powerful that he dropped to his knees. The Blah...the Blah was fading fast and it was overwhelming him.

"Mark?" He heard Maureen's voice, but all he could see was the book on the ground in front of him. He reached out and flipped the pages, seeing Roger's messy handwriting all over. Finally, his hands were shaking so much that he couldn't hold the pages anymore, and he let them fall open. At this point, Maureen was crouching beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Mark closed his eyes for a second and breathed deeply, then opened them again, looking at the page the book had fallen open to. There was a title at the top, written in larger letters that the rest of the writing.

"Santa Fe..." Mark read. He closed his eyes and dropped his head, letting the tears he'd been suppressing for the last seven years come pouring out all at once. Maureen rubbed his back, and Mark opened his eyes a crack to see her reaching out to touch the book.

"Santa Fe..." she murmured. Mark looked at her, surprised to see that she was crying as well, and even more surprised that a small smile peeked through her tears.

"You know how I said there's a whole world of places I've never been?"


End file.
